As you may remember from my last post, I went to the theater last Wednesday night. Now, to say I like theater is an understatement. I
love theater; performing, creating, you-name-it. So when Dr. Kling invited me to see an opera, I was on that like white on rice. However, as the performance drew closer, and Dr. Kling and his friend, Rory, discussed the piece were going to see, I was less and less sure that it was actually an opera, especially because I learned that there would be puppets involved.
I want to assure you: Wednesday night was one of the most terrifying and rewarding experiences with theater that I have ever had.
We saw a production called
King of the Birds - Queen of the Blood, which included Salvatore Sciarrino's
Infinito Nero and Peter Maxwell Davies'
Eight Songs for a Mad King. The banner hanging outside the theater:
The "theater" itself was an old opera prop and scenery warehouse, renovated into a theater and several artist studies. I put "theater" in quotes because the room we were in was a four-story entryway, where set pieces used to be raised up to the large doors on the second-, third-, and fourth-floors. From where I was sitting, it looked like this:
That screen is hanging from the balcony on the second floor. Not a very good picture, but it sort of gives you an idea of the space. Also, it was shaped very oddly: thick at one end and thin at the other.
Right in front of us was the "stage":
Yes, you're seeing correctly. That is a raised canopy bed, with an orchestra behind it. That was the only space utilized by the actor, until the very end, when he escaped, and ran around the room (more on that later).
Now. The performance. I don't think I can
describe them...so you'll have to make do with my impressions and observations instead.
The first number -
Infinito Nero - was absolutely terrifying to me, for almost no reason that I could figure out. The piece itself is based on the terror of a mad nun (a real nun, who I guess kept journals...or something...), so the vocal part is mostly gutteral noises, ranging in pitch and volume, and switching between extremes constantly. The music, which was stripped down for this performance, Dr. Kling said, was mostly wind blown thrown flutes and clarinets. Not notes, or musical sound, mind you, but just the sound of wind pushed through the instrument. There was also slight violin and percussion accompaniment. This eery, other-worldly arrangement was accompanied by the bed sheets on the stage ripped from beneath from two knives, red paint dripped onto the white bedcovers, and the torn and stained sheet being raised four stories into the air into a bright white light.
I was absolutely terrified! Not in the way that I thought something scary was going to happen, but I think by the madness it so plainly portrayed. When something mental and internal is displayed so perfectly, it's scary, because the audience feels it, and those feelings are frightening.
The second part,
Eight Songs for a Mad King, was less frightening, but just as brilliant. Davies wrote this half-hour opera in English (hooray!), because it's based on the journal and writings of King George the...Third? I don't remember. Anyway, the crazy George. The man who played the king had incredible range. I believe he was naturally a baritone, but I looked it up, and the vocal score spans five octaves. Just like the woman from the first piece, he effortlessly switched between high and low pitches, he screamed and whispered, and even growled some. It actually took me about five minutes to realize that it was in English, because it was so convoluted. Then, I kept looking at the German subtitles (projected onto the white screen shown in the second picture) to figure out what he was saying, like that was going to help. The bed was transformed from a canopy to a cage, and at the end he escaped, ran up to the orchestra, and smashed a violin.
Smashed. A violin. Agaist a pillar.
I jumped ten feet in the air when that happened; it surprised the hell out of me. The performance ended with all the performers filing out of the performance space, while the king howled. It was amazing: The entire audience just sat there, staring at the door the left by, unsure whether the play was over, unsure whether they were allowed to begin clapping.
I told Dr. Kling later that while the man who played the king was amazing, and probably spends all of his free time on vocal rest, I would be interested to see a performance where instead of being all over the place, the king's madness was portrayed as very focused and centered, until the end when the violin is destroyed. I think that I would be more frightened by someone who seems sane, than someone who is ranting and raving. Especially is that apparent sanity is juxtaposed by the amazing, howling vocal score.
I really can't accurately describe the performance, as I said earlier, but I did want to share the experience and my observations with you, Internet. I must say, although my immediate reaction was to turn to Dr. Kling and say, "I have no idea what that was," I think it was a life-changing performance, or at least one which changes every single idea I ever had about art and theater.
If you get a chance to see either piece, ever...do it.
Leave comments! And check back again soon: We're going back to the Literaturhaus tomorrow, so maybe I'll finally post an update on my work.
